


Dinner with a Side of Drama

by Dichotomous_Dragon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Double Dating, F/M, M/M, background Lace Harding/Krem Aclassi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:48:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8120533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dichotomous_Dragon/pseuds/Dichotomous_Dragon
Summary: Dorian is very busy, thank you. Too busy to socialize, certainly too busy to have time for dating.
The Iron Bull is well-practiced in being many things to many people. It's rather beyond him why Krem feels the need to meddle with that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand here is my first entry to a minibang, dragging up the rear. :) Endless thanks to [Cyberfairie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyberfairie/pseuds/Cyberfairie) for beta'ing and listening to me whine for AGES as I gutted this fic three different times, and also to [Gobetti](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Gobetti/pseuds/Gobetti) for deleting more extra spaces than any sane human should ever have to do!
> 
> The fabulous art for this work posted on-time, tis I that am late. Thank you to [Shae-C-Art](http://shae-cart.tumblr.com/) and [Mirabel-Chan](http://mirabel-chan.tumblr.com/) for their patience and frigging lovely pictures!
> 
> UPDATE: I can't nest the pictures from my stupid iPad, I'll fix that as soon as I get home T^T

**Lace 10:58 AM:** So...we’re doing the thing, right?  
**Krem 10:59 AM:** Yup.  
**Lace 10:59 AM:** Ok. I’ll talk to Dorian tonight when I stop by  
**Lace 11:02 AM:** ...you really think it’ll work?  
**Krem 11:03 AM:** I don’t see why not. We’ve got a plan. They both need it. Chief needs it bad  
**Lace 11:05 AM:** Yeah. Dorian too.  
**Lace 11:09 AM:** ...still feels weird  
**Krem 11:10 AM:** Yup  
**Krem 11:10 AM:** Bright side! If it’s a disaster we’re going to hear about it for MONTHS  
**Lace 11:12 AM:** Maker forbid! And if not, Andraste save my poor, battered ear drums

  
-

“You're joking." The flat intonation ensured Harding knew it wasn't a question. Dorian arched one elegant eyebrow in utter disdain, folding his arms. Lace was a dear friend but he had his limits and..what she was suggesting was absurd for nearly a thousand reasons. He allowed himself a small tick of annoyance: the small jerk he did when he was either annoyed or making a point. Right at that moment, he was doing both.

"It's not that crazy of an idea," Lace rebutted, plopped down on the couch just a skosh more forcefully than was necessary, "-people go on double dates all the time." She was fiercely glad she'd asked this of Dorian in private and not, say, where she could be even more mortified by the man's reaction. Lace tucked her feet under her and grabbed the nearest throw pillow for emotional support.

"I am not 'people,'" Dorian replied, complete with a haughty little lift of his chin, "-and for the record, I do not think double-dates where two of the parties have never met are common."

“You are nit-picking.”

Dorian wrinkled his nose. “That’s a rather repugnant turn of phrase--”

" _Dorian_ ," Lace put on her best pouting face, lower lip jutted out. She leaned back on the couch, cocking her head sideways and batting her lashes. It was rather obvious she was painting the cutest, most grovely picture she could manage. Dorian had seen her melt more than one foe this way, her face framed in loose curls and her green eyes puppy-dog wide, nevermind what she managed to talk her friends into doing with the same look.

Lace had once told Dorian he was the only person she knew who could make a snort sound cultured. He took the opportunity to remind her why, huffing through his nose before he added, “That tactic may work on Cremisius, my dear, but I am immune to your feminine wiles.”

She winked, undeterred. “But you _do_ think I’m wiley,” she grinned, fluttering her eyelashes again. He rolled his eyes as she patted a spot on the cushion next to her.

“Yes, just like the cartoon coyote,” Dorian remarked, sounding put upon, “Though not quite as flea-riddled, one should hope, lest your commentary about nits become relevant.” Harding flung a pillow at his head and Dorian side-stepped, the projectile artfully dodged. The ill fated missile landed with a sad ploof next to the small table that served as Dorian’s dining area and office. “Enough of your silliness. Tell me of my impending poor decision.”

Lace perked up at that. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“I said _impending_ , dear woman, not that I’ve made up my mind. Do get on with it. What're his name, age, and top three issues? He must have them to be resorting to a blind date, of all things.”

“Wellllll, it’s someone you’ve heard of.”

Dorian sighed with the situationally appropriate amount of dramatic flair. That amount was ever climbing, given his dear friend’s inability to get to the point. “Lace, nevermind that I’ve no time to date, not to mention that I’ve told you such at least a dozen times. Let’s not forget the fact that you think I need to be ‘hooked up’ in order to find a date! Mildly offensive and inaccurate at best, duel-worthy at worst-”

“Okay okay!” Harding jumped in before the tirade could pick up more steam – a pity, that, because Dorian was very much on a roll – but the dwarf threw up her hands in defeat. “Maker! It’s The Iron Bull, okay? Okay. Sheesh!” She looked up at him ruefully. “You really missed your calling, you should have been a prosecutor…”

“I do have an Associate’s in law, my dear, don’t forget,” He chewed his lip, considering, “-and don’t think I’ve missed the misdirection, either. The Iron Bull, article included. Maker above, you’ve set me up with the Qunari?”

“Tal-Vashoth, technically, and yes, and,” she raised her voice a bit, “before you get your fancy underthings twisted about it, yes, I know Tevinter and Par Vollen don’t get along, historically, but neither of you are your people. Take it from me, Bull is not your average Qunari.”

“Is there even such a thing?”

“Might be,” she shrugged, “Don’t know. He saved Krem’s life and the Chargers love him. Which you would know already, _if you ever bothered_ -”

“-to come out drinking, yes, yes, I know,” Dorian waved her off, “I’m-”

“-simply too busy,” Harding finished with him. Her imitation of his accent was atrocious.

“Your tendency to finish my sentences is not endearing,” Dorian groused, exasperated but fond. “I have also noticed you haven't answered me on the top three issues. The Iron Bull has no issue finding takers, if your tales are to be believed.”

“Fair question.” She nibbled her lip. “Bull had a pretty steady thing going with someone - you remember me talking about Ink?” Dorian nodded. “They dated for a bit. Apparently it was pretty serious… Bull isn’t a ‘one person at a time’ kinda guy, usually. But he and Ink were exclusive for quite a while - two years or so? - and then they weren't.”

“Not quite mutual, I take it?” The thought settled heavy in Dorian’s chest, sobering him. There was nothing comfortable about being the wrong person to catch feelings. Whip-quick his mind flashed back to a time he’d had his own foray into similarly uncomfortable territory; a time when he’d trembled under the weight of realization only to know, before he’d asked, what the answer would be. Images flashed unbidden through his mind: finely carved cheekbones, lips curled at the edges, the shadow of a small dimple against bourbon-tan skin.

“Not quite mutual, no,” Lace whispered, soft syllables freeing Dorian from his wool-gathering, “Let’s just say the tale of Ink and Bull is one of the few stories I haven't heard the Chargers tell fifty times.”

“Quite the anomaly then, given your other tales of them.” Dorian hummed, considering for a moment before burying his wayward thoughts. “Very well, you win. I shall go. I make no promises, however,” he assured her. Lace’s answering smile gleamed; Dorian sniffed and turned away to grab coffee mugs.

If he was going to suffer her smugness, he was going to do it properly caffeinated.

  
-

 

"Dinner with a blind date,” Bull said it like a man who was already resigned, even allowing the obvious ‘ _Well, with one eye I'm halfway there’ joke to pass by_. It had been a long week and an even longer month, but if trying to set him up was what Krem wanted, of course he was gonna do it.

That didn’t mean he had to like it, though, and it sure as shit didn’t mean he was going to do it without complaint.

“You sure this is a good idea, Krempuff?" Krem punched him in the arm for the terrible nickname, undermining the attack with a lopsided grin.

"Don't worry, Chief, I called ahead and made sure everything is squared away with the restaurant. All you have do is find a shirt with a collar, and show up. I’m even covering the tab since you treated Lace and I the last time."

“You know I’m not one to miss a free meal,” Bull sighed, though there wasn’t much heat in it. Krem had asked for goofier shit than this during their time as friends. “But I still can’t say I get it.”

In answer, Krem was giving him that _look_ , the soft one that he'd caught the Chargers giving him at strategic moments: the time he'd had to sit out work for three straight weeks after a touch-up surgery on his ankle, stir crazy and useless. The time he'd found a starving kitten on his walk but hadn't gotten to it in time. The time he and Ink… But that was old news. Krem’s gaze was laden with a thousand unsaid words and every last one of them twisted in Bull’s gut, slicing open a vein to an old wound he didn’t want bled.

People weren't meant to give The Iron Bull gentle looks like that. He was no Imekari, didn’t need anyone - even his boys - thinking he needed their pity. He was solid as a silverite blade and twice as reliable, as accommodating as he could be to everyone that mattered. The Chargers respected him and gave him grief in equal measure; most of them looked to him like a mix of older brother and annoying uncle, with a bit of guidance counsellor on the side. Other people? They gave him the long stares of the curious and unsubtle, amorous looks banked with heat. Sometimes a small amount of fear. It worked for him, playing the brute. Nobody looked at seven and a half feet of Qunari like a bit of glass to be handled with care.

Bull kept on before Krem could give voice to any of the things Bull was sure were showing on his face. “You gonna tell me who it is?”

“You know I wouldn’t set you up with someone shitty, Chief.” Bull tilted his horns just a tad, incredulous. Krem huffed. “Ok, that time with Rocky and the guy who jumped out of cakes does not count. For one? It wasn’t you. For two? It was hilarious. This isn’t meant to be funny.” The last words sunk in. “Anyway, he’s very pretty.”

“He, huh? Go on.”

“Yeah. Lace’s friend, Dorian,” and Krem looked nervous, shifting his weight foot to foot, as restless as Bull had seen him in a long time. With good reason, too.

“The ‘Vint?”

“Yeah.”

“The one who’s always too busy working to come out with the Chargers?”

“Yeah, that’s him. The uh, Altus.”

Bull chuckled. “I typically go for curvy redheads,” they were his favorite. He had even hit on Lace a couple times before noticing the way Krem about swallowed his tongue every time he saw her. In spite of that, it appeared Krem of the Crop’s primo suggestion was a bookish ‘Vint. He thought about it. “Alright, I’ll bite. Why?”

“I have it on good authority that Lace has excellent taste in ‘Vints, for one, and Dorian is one of her best friends,” Krem said smoothly. Bull laughed, conceding the point. “She introduced him to Sera and Dagna and both of them adopted him like some hard-luck puppy. He’s not been here long but they all seem pretty sure about him.”

“Hard luck, huh?”

“I don’t know the story so don’t ask,” Krem raised his hands in the international gesture for _I have no fucking clue_. “Lace met Dorian a couple months back while she was out with the Fereldan Army scouts, so whatever it was…” he trailed off.

“Alright, so your girlfriend is trying to hook up her buddy, still doesn’t answer ‘why me,’ Krem Puff. What makes you think that an ex-Ben-Hassrath and a titled Tevinter ex-pat are going to get along?”

“Not so sure he’s got the title anymore, Chief,” and yeah, that reeked of a tale not told, “and because Lace thinks it’s a good idea,” Krem finished, and sighed. “Dorian needs a friend. She’s tried to get him to quit working so much but he won’t do it, says he has too much to do.”

“Nothing wrong with hard work, and you just said Dagna and Sera adopted him. Sounds like he’s got a few.”

“Yeah, but there’s a limit. He never does anything but work. Home, work, repeat. Either Lace or Sera stops over there every other day or so to make sure he’s eating, Chief.” Bull had to admit, that was pushing it. “Lace says he’s lonely pretty much all the time but he’ll never admit it.”

There it was. Dorian might have had a couple of friends, but Krem and Lace seemed to think he needed one type in particular.

“You saying he needs a boyfriend, Krem?” Bull had been with people that had, people that had needed him to be only theirs for a time, to stabilize themselves between relationships. He could be that anchor when he needed to.

“I’m saying I think you two’d get along. And, well. Dorian is nice enough for an Altus, even if he is prickly as fuck and pompous. Dunno, Chief,” Krem rubbed his neck, a tick Bull swore he’d picked up from Cullen, “I think he’s scared of something. Getting him out of his shell would be a good challenge for you.”

The smaller man nearly toppled as Bull clapped him on the back. There was no sense in deep-diving the matter further; it was just a date. “Whatever you say, Krem de la Creme. I’m in.”

-

**Lace 02:31 PM:** So, you got the confirmation, right?  
**Krem 02:31 PM:** Yup. 6:00 for dinner at that fancy Orlesian place Dorian mentioned a couple weeks ago.  
**Krem 02:32 PM:** Chief’s already bitching about his horns. I think the big lug’s nervous.  
**Lace 02:34 PM:** Dorian too, I’ve gotten no less than four texts about what qualifies for ‘high-end’ here in the south. I think that’s Dorian speak for ‘how do I look nice but not TOO nice’  
**Lace 02:36 PM:** Make that six texts  
**Lace 02:37 PM:** EIGHT TEXTS, forget it! I’m going to go get ready! I WILL NOT BE NEAR MY PHONE  
**Krem 02:37 PM:** :P

-

“Look at you, Chief!” Krem hollered and draped one arm across Lace’s shoulders, grinning in unison with her as Bull approached. The two made an attractive pair, Lace in dress pants and a light blue vest and Krem in a light polo shirt that brought out the copper sheen in his hair.

“Snazzy getup,” Harding agreed. “You clean up pretty well when you want to!”

Bull shrugged, the lines of his smoke grey blazer strained over the shape of him. His collar popped vibrantly purple at his throat. His light grey pants were tailored, the belt and shoes simple black. He could hear Ma’am approving.

“You should have seen the getup he wore to Halamshiral when Madame de Fer had him consult,” Krem sniggered I thought the Orlesians were going to faint.”

“Save some of the good stuff for dinner, Krem. If you tell them all now, my date will get bored.”

“Maker knows we can’t have that.” A new voice called from behind him, musical and cultured. Bull turned to find a dark skinned man approaching them, resplendent in the long, graceful lines of a pale grey pea coat. The collar stood high alongside the column of his throat, buttoned high and sweeping down from a set of broad shoulders. Artful kohl lined green hazel eyes that gleamed with flecks of silver. He was tall for a human and solidly built, though from the slack in the white silk shirt and gray dress pants, he’d missed a few more meals than his tailor had accounted for.

Krem’s comment about Dorian’s recent luck echoed in the hollow of Bull’s chest.

“Dorian!” Lace slipped from under Krem’s arm, near-skipping to the newcomer’s side. Bull whistled low on an exhale as the man’s rather dashing mustache quirked over a smile, white teeth and dark skin radiant even under the wan light of the early streetlights. Harding smiled up at her friend while Bull took in the beauty in the contrast between them: Lace, soft red curls and supple curves all over; Dorian, long lines and sharp angles in his cheeks and nose, and in the cut of his clothes. It was more than aesthetic, though, for while it was clear Dorian was about as ‘Vint as a ‘Vint could get, he clearly cared for Harding enough not to posture as much as he could.

Dorian bent gracefully at the waist to angle his ear closer to Lace, who was smiling and whispering something to him behind the flat of her hand. Her words drew a laugh from Dorian, a musical sound that sent a little shiver of want down Bull’s spine. He wanted more of that laugh, more of the subtle differences in the planes of Dorian’s face when he smiled for real.

“Dorian, this is the Iron Bull,” Harding introduced them, cheeks taut at the edges of her widest smile. “Bull, this is Dorian.” The ‘Vint tucked one arm to his stomach and the other along his lower back, dipping at the waist again in acknowledgement of the introduction. Pretty silver eyes trailed along Bull’s own lines and he flexed, interest clear in the intensity of Dorian’s watchfulness. Bull waited for him to straighten before offering a hand. Dorian shook it, one eyebrow raised; a hint of red slipped into his cheeks when Bull bowed low and, rotating Dorian’s hand in his own, pressed his lips to skin behind his knuckles.

“Charmed,” Dorian cleared his throat as Bull released him, voice a little rough.

Very suddenly, Bull was looking forward to dinner far more than he had been an hour prior.

  
-

The restaurant had, of course, lost their reservation. While both Krem and Lace argued politely with the maitre’d, Dorian slipped one hand into his pocket. Even standing casually he looked like a model, ripped into reality from the pages of one of those crappy fashion mags Skinner pretended not to read. Old Tevinter money right down to his posture, every movement a strategic thing to be executed to one’s advantage. Bull knew a little something about training like that.

There was a bit of tension in Dorian’s spine Bull hadn't missed, however. Nor had he missed the way the Orlesian maitre’d kept side eyeing him and Dorian both. He figured Dorian hadn't, either, from the tightness around his eyes.

Dorian was hot, though, so Bull improvised.

“I have a buddy with a place nearby instead, if you guys aren’t too picky about ambiance,” Bull offered, hoping the alternative could bring the night back. He said it jovially, just loud enough for the posh asshole at the host stand to hear him. “Usually pretty chill. I had to break up a fight when a bunch of guys got drunk during hockey finals last year, but-”

“-the people there aren’t usually assholes,” Krem grinned as he cut Bull off. “Got a great pool table, too.”

“Oh, I love pool!” Lace beamed up at Dorian, poking him in the arm. He raised an eyebrow. “Eh? C’mon Dorian, pool table.” She said it with the weight of an academic discovering an ancient relic, grinning and excited.

“A pool table,” Dorian said, no small amount of incredulousness in his tone. “In a fine dining establishment,” he paused for effect before adding, letting his eyes pan over to Bull “-where hockey fights need to be broken up by large one-eyed Qunari.”

“Hey, in my defense, I didn’t start the fight, I just ended it.” Dorian made a hand gesture that Bull assumed meant as you were so he went on: “Also, don’t know that it’s ‘fine’ dining,” he admitted, holding the door open for Dorian and the others while Lace pouted, “-but the food’s good. All the other ritzy places in the area will be booked up anyway, this time of night, and this one’s not worth the hassle.” Dorian’s lip quirked just a tad, his eyes crinkling with the smile he kept suppressed. The no doubt from the maitre’d scrunched up his nose. Bull took that as a positive, credited the ‘Vint a couple bonus points in his head for not being as fussy as he looked, and motioned the others out. “What do you say, dive eatery instead? We’ll be the best dressed people there, and the service will definitely be better.”

“Hard to be much worse,” Krem shrugged, savoring the answering affronted snort. At that, the three of them looked to Dorian, who shrugged.

“I am still not certain about billiards in the dining room, but when in the south, as they say...” He said, but Bull was quick enough to catch the last, lingering glance Dorian cast over his shoulder at the maitre’d before turning those eyes of his on Bull’s, straightening his back as he offered Bull his arm. “Shall we?”

Paired with that devilish little smirk, Dorian cut an immensely alluring figure. Bull felt his chest do a little smooshing act on his lungs before grinning back. “Can’t say no to that, big guy.”

 

**Lace 07:17 PM:** How do you think it’s going?  
**Krem 07:17 PM:** Well, Chief’s got that schmoopy look on his face, so, good, I think  
**Lace 07:18 PM:** I hope so! Dorian looks... happy  
**Lace 07:20 PM:** I haven’t seen him this engaged in a conversation since he and Dagna got into theology the last time  
**Dorian 07:21 PM:** Dearest, if you’re going to text your boyfriend about me from the other side of the room, have the decency not to stare at me while you do it

[Shae-C-Art](http://shae-c-art.tumblr.com/post/150619150886/adoribull-minibang-artwork-for-dichotomous-dragon)

  
Locking his screen while Lace blushed furiously, Dorian contemplated the pale liquid in his glass. He sipped the ale dutifully - Fereldan, awful stuff, it was his third - long fingers twined around the glass as his mind wandered to other things. Bull had gone to grab refills; Lace and Krem were playing pool, making what could only be called calf-eyes when the other wasn’t looking. They were standing closer to one another than was strictly necessary. It made Dorian smile at the same time he made a mental note to tease Harding about it later.

He’d been pleased when the food at the make-up restaurant had turned out delicious rather than simply palatable. More shocking still was Bull, who looked nothing short of dashing. He was very possibly the most entrancing man Dorian had met since fleeing south. The rich purple of his collared button-down clashed a bit with Dorian’s sensibilities, but looked wondrous when compared to Bull’s skin tone. The vibrant coloring brought out almost a bluish sheen to Bull’s grey skin, teased at his arms - sleeves rolled up and, Maker, the man’s forearms ought to have been illegal - and at the V of his collar. The scant view of Bull’s chest was an alluring one: the convergence of large slabs of muscle, the tail inch of what looked to be a wicked scar. Dorian did not usually find scars alluring.

Then again, Dorian did not typically do a great many things he was contemplating doing, especially when Bull wasn’t looking directly at him. When Bull was looking at him, several of Dorian’s higher faculties tried to flee, hopelessly smitten with a crooked smile that was far more dashing than it had a right to be. Bull’s features were chiseled and sharp, angular and masculine but cut with generous laugh lines around his mouth and remaining eye. Each time he got Bull to grin, Dorian found himself reaching deeper into his best theatrics to manage the feat again, if only to see how the next smile would change the landscape of Bull’s face.

Disturbing, the frequency with which he’d been surprised. It happened to him repeatedly over the course of the last two hours, sitting across from Bull and making what passed for polite small talk. The big man was fascinating, attentive to the point of seeming truly engaged with the conversations Dorian brought up. He’d planned on avoiding the topic of work until Bull had asked about his research, startling Dorian by asking deeper, more complex questions that went far beyond what Dorian had originally thought to explain.

His own growing interest was obvious as Dorian felt his usual conversation barriers continue to slip. Bull’s questions incited his passion, his answers growing longer and more in-depth; his perfectly maintained facade of aloofness starting to crack, true laughter slipping through as Bull’s witticisms - and indeed, even his awful puns, though Dorian would die before admitting such aloud - caught him off guard. Bull’s bone deep amiable nature bled through into his voice and his gestures, a spring breeze in the shape of a hurricane, massive and feared.

Dorian wondered what he might have thought, had he met Bull without Lace’s many fond stories to color his perception. He’d have noticed the muscles, surely, but would have been treated to the Bull’s wicked intelligence? The kind smile he favored Dorian with, a rather intent sort of gaze that made Dorian’s blood and heart warm for entirely different reasons, would he have missed it? Bull was very nearly sweet. The likely truth that Dorian might have dismissed him made his ale go sour on his tongue.

“You have quite the reputation,” Dorian blurted, badly wishing to turn the topic to Bull yet immediately wishing he could bite the words back, considering how they sounded. How had his rather dismal thoughts on his own prejudices managed to come out so...judgemental? The words hung in the air, stale coffee stark. Bull’s expression didn’t really change, though the nod he gave Dorian was just the wrong side of sharp to be friendly.

“Nothing wrong with taking care of people.” Bull said with an easy shrug, yet when his gaze lifted Dorian couldn’t help but feel something in Bull’s smile had shifted, an oft-rehearsed facade slipping into place on well-worked tracks. The expression was still a kind one, his smile soft, but to Dorian it looked as out of place on Bull’s face as a crooked picture frame above a prized mantle might. He was surprised at the ache accompanying the realization, his defensive quip shriveling to ash on his tongue. Bull saw Dorian frowned. “I get it,” Bull added, placating, “-if that’s not your thing.”

“I didn’t-” Dorian swallowed the words and chased them with a generous mouthful of beer. He forced out the bitter shards of his irritation with himself, carried on the gust of a heavy sigh. “I apologize. That was not at all what I meant. I seem to have acquired a knack for putting my foot in my mouth this evening. Very unlike me, I assure you.”

Bull leaned conspicuously sideways, seriousness knitting his brow. He stared down under the table long enough for Dorian to contemplate fidgeting. “Well, if you’re gonna be choking on one, ‘least it’s a stylish shoe.”

The tension in the air snapped like a cheap rubber band. Dorian let out a short “Ha!” despite himself, mouth twisting. “Only the best, of course,” but the veneer felt a bit too contrived. For some reason, rather impossibly, the pride in him demanded Dorian correct his misstep. The fingers of his left hand fluttered forward only to be drawn back; Dorian instead began drumming each digit in turn, a set of quiet thumps on the old tabletop. “I do wish to elaborate, however. I simply meant Lace has told me a great deal of your exploits with the Chargers. They are something like a gaggle of eager pups following you about, are they not?” The query took the sharp edge off of Bull’s smile again, deepened the creases at the edge of his eye to soft, fond things. Dorian took that to also mean he was forgiven, too, and the relief was nearly painful.

“They’re a bunch of assholes, but they’re my gang. They mean well most of the time.”

“So, exactly like pups, then. Eager and always causing an extravagant amount of trouble,” Dorian remarked, warming when Bull rewarded him with another of his deep belly laughs.

“Not to mention being bad for the carpets,” he snickered.

“I prefer hardwood, myself,” Dorian sipped his beer, smirking and satisfied as Bull’s eye darkened a bit. Bait taken, he turned his questioning back to the Chargers. “This is a group to whom Cremisius is the co-captain?

“Nah, nothing that formal. Most of us aren’t from here. We just play club rugby when the weather’s not shit and pass for a sort of weird family the rest of the time.”

Dorian contemplated that, rested his chin on his hand and angled himself forward. “So that makes Krem the step-father?”

Bull snorted, choking on his beer. He sloshed some of the golden liquid back into his tankard, coughing and laughing. Dorian found himself oddly proud of that and slipped his glass high enough to obscure his own indulgent smile.

“I will pay you to call him that in front of the rest of the guys,” Bull admonished once he’d caught his breath, “-seriously.” They settled into amiable silence for a bit, glancing in unison as Lace cheered her victory from the pool table. Krem pouted, plopping down onto a bar stool, only to lose his affectation of grumpiness when Lace rose to her tip-toes to press her lips to his cheek. Krem’s answering smile was radiant.

“How did you meet them?” Dorian was surprised to find again that he genuinely wanted to know, well, everything. He had an insatiable appetite for knowledge about many things, but rarely was that hunger targeted towards a living person. Bull made Dorian’s mouth water for a half-dozen distinctly different reasons. “The Chargers, I mean.”

“Each of ‘em has their own tale, but we make it a point to tell the stories together. And how Krem and I met isn’t exactly proper for an after dinner chat.”

Dorian hummed into his drink. “Despite my flawless exterior, I assure you I'm not squeamish. Surely it’s a tale worth telling, if one doesn’t need to spare the audience’s tender faculties?”

“Lace never told you, huh? I’m surprised. She talks about you a lot.”

Dorian shook his head, brushing past the nod to his closeness with Harding. “As much as Lace loves telling stories, she hasn’t shared this one. It was alluded to, once, and she said it was a dashing tale of heroism and that I had to hear it from the source, that she simply could not do it justice. All very romantic, from the way she carries on.” Bull’s open expression shuttered, the contours of his face smoothing again. Dorian backpedaled just a bit. “Romantic in the classical sense of the word, I mean. Vivid imagery and the like, you know,” he fluttered a hand, glossing over baring his inner academic at the dinner table, “dramatic feats of derring-do, or what have you.” More unexpected honesty, if only to himself, Dorian found he didn't care if Harding had exaggerated. He wanted to know more of Bull in every sense of the word - first hand, the two of them, not just gleaned from someone else’s fond recollection - and opted not to think too deeply on that.

“Oh. There really isn’t that much to tell, honestly. Dingey hole in the wall on the Tevinter/Nevarra border, maybe four years ago. Couple of assholes didn’t like the look of Krem and jumped him. It was five on one. Krem’s tough as shit but those odds were no good. They had him pinned on the floor of the bar, one of them smashed a bottle. No one else was gonna step in and stop them, so I did. Hell of a fight. Lost the eye but saved Krem’s ass. The two of us came south after that,” Bull stated, adding a little shrug when Dorian simply stared at him as though waiting for the rest of the story. “I uh, tell it better when I’ve had a few, honestly.”

Dorian hummed. “Fortunately for Krem, you - a total stranger - just happened to be in the wrong tavern at the right time, and were willing to leap to his rescue at great personal peril.” No part of the story made sense in a frame of contextual reference Dorian had ever experienced… save his own first meeting with Lace. The thought of Bull and Krem, bleeding together on a tavern floor not unlike the one beneath them… Dorian buried the thought. He had just met Bull, did not know Cremisius all that well, but both seemed rather decent sorts. Such mindless violence didn’t surprise him, per se, but he took no joy from imagining Bull’s rugged features gashed open upon the jagged teeth of broken glass. “There aren't many Tal-Vashoth in Tevinter. What were you, on location as a customs agent? Military, perhaps?”

“Ben-Hassrath,” Bull corrected and Dorian, having hailed from the Imperium and Qarinus, specifically, knew all too well what that meant.

“You were a spy.” He tried to quiet the blaring of alarm bells in his head, years of propaganda surging forth from the depths of his memories, but... So little of what he knew of Bull, had seen of Bull thus far, fit the image of the vicious savage. Indeed, the idea of Bull - Bull, who’d once cried over a kitten, if Lace were to be believed - twisted around Dorian’s chest in a messy conveyance of sadness. Dorian nixed the emotion from his face, sure that it wouldn't be appreciated. He straightened his posture and tried to gather his bearings.

“Yeah.” Bull drained his beer, set the tankard down with deliberate care. “It’s not something I talk about much.”

“I can’t imagine the Vidasala approves of you telling random Alti such revealing information, even one as dashing as I,” Dorian added stiffly.

Bull shrugged. For the first time that night he wasn’t watching Dorian’s face, staring at his hands instead. The rounded plane of his shoulders made him seem smaller, somehow. Less himself. “Didn’t appreciate me blowing my cover to save a random ‘Vint, either.” Realization hit Dorian, stark and sudden, and he forced his cautiousness down.

Lace would not have deliberately put him in danger. Krem knew, she knew, and he had to believe neither would never have brought him to meet Bull at all, were he a threat. The flickering flame of hope in Dorian’s chest kindled a bit brighter.

“Ah, then they…” Dorian sobered as the rest of the pieces clicked together, nodding slightly to himself, “You no longer are a spy, I take it?”

“Nope. They found out, I got excommunicated.”

Nausea coiled in Dorian like smoke as he thought of Bull, disowned by his people and cast out from all he’d known for the sake of defending a stranger. Dorian looked over to Krem and Lace, smiling and laughing and leaning into each other, the pillar of their respective worlds. Krem’s body angled towards her, Lace’s freckled cheeks dusted ruby in the old hanging lights of the bar. Dorian could tell Bull was taking in the same view when he added: “It was worth it.”

“Just so.” Dorian thought about that, about what kind of man leapt into a fight that was not his own and paid so dearly for it, yet embraced the loss so absolutely, least of all while defying the Qun’s secret police.

Rather abruptly, Dorian became quite certain he had never met anyone like Bull. He drummed his fingers, chest cinched tight beneath the loops of a dozen emotions he didn’t want, and considered.

“So, how did you and Lace meet?” The bands pulled tighter; a dozen warring feelings became a hundred, blossoming into corset and knot.

“That story is sordid enough that it needs to wait,” Dorian replied, a month of sleepless nights echoed in the quiet seriousness of his expression. He flinched under the force of it before shrugging free, beckoning back the warm thoughts of a few minutes before. He eyed Bull and saw nothing combative, nothing save Bull’s keen eye on him and a gentle twist to his scarred lips. “Tell me of your consult at the Winter Palace. I have met Vivienne de Fer, she’s-”

“A dragon in high fashion,” Bull said it with reverence and affection both, and Dorian’s breath eased.

 

**Krem 08:27 PM:** Chief swapped to water  
**Krem 08:27 PM:** I think he got Dorian one too  
**Lace 08:29 PM:** Holy crap, sobering up?  
**Lace 08:30 PM:** That’s… New.  
**Lace 08:32 PM:** I’m almost done with Sera and will be back to snoop in a minute. She's, um. Leaving through the window.  
**Krem 08:36 PM:** Not asking.  
**Krem 08:36 PM:** Also I think it’s working, we’re brilliant  
**Krem 08:37 PM:** I’m 95% sure they’re talking about politics  
**Lace 08:38 PM:** Love at first sight  >:3  
**Krem 08:39 PM:** Or an international incident in the making  
**Lace 08:39 PM:** Either one, really

[Mirabel-Chan](http://mirabel-chan.tumblr.com/post/150597253353/can-finally-post-my-contribution-to-this-years)

The better part of an hour later, Bull reclined with a grin while Dorian leaned over the table, making half of his argument with his hands. He had long fingers, fine-boned for a man, his nails cut close and well maintained. Bull was beginning to wonder what it’d feel like to have them digging frantic lines into his back while he pressed Dorian to a wall.

“Oy, you!”

Dorian stammered to silence mid explanation, startled by the broad-shouldered interloper marching up to their table. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not you, fuckin’ ‘vinter,” the man barked, scowling. He was wearing three days’ stubble and a Kirkwall Chains jersey. “S’bad enough they even let you in here.” Bull frowned as the bemusement dropped from Dorian’s face, his teeth clicking together as his jaw clamped shut. “I’m talking to the ox.” Jersey was large, a good two inches over even Dorian’s height, though still a few short of Bull’s. The stink of old ale hung heavy on his breath. “You’re the one who got Rennin thrown in the tank.”

“Don’t know anyone by that name.” Dorian had thought Bull closed off earlier, when he’d misstepped with his question on the Chargers. He’d missed the mark, as Bull had clearly just paused to appraise him. Bull now was a study in statuary, his face as emotionless and blank as fresh marble. He flicked his eyes up to their unwelcome guest, glancing around them to weigh other threats. Dorian himself had done the same at Tevinter parties more times than he could count. The reminder wasn’t altogether welcome.

“Rennin’s the guy you jumped a few months’ back,” Jersey shrugged his shoulders, rolling his knuckles to crack on his opposite palm. Across the room, Dorian saw Lace and Krem take note, no longer putzing with their game. Harding’s gaze snared his own; Dorian shook his head minutely. Wait. Krem was the one who nodded back, casually setting their glasses down and leaning against the front of the pool table. Able to move without crowding the scene.

“Bullshit you don’t remember.” Jersey was still talking - or spitting, more like, blood flooding into his face and staining it splotchy red. He was far too close to their table, a scant step away. Between his smell and his bulk he was rapidly forcing the night into yet another tailspin. “You got him sent upstate with a broken hand!”

“He broke that hand hitting a guy who didn’t hit him back.” Bull’s voice was toneless. “Not my problem, bud. Not yours either, definitely not right now.”

“Who you think you are?!” and on that Jersey reared back, one fist curling, the other reaching for Bull, “You fuckin’ cow-”

Dorian dipped his head, torn. On one hand, Bull was clearly capable of holding his own - there was no question on that being true - but on the other, the fact that he was going to be forced to? Anger simmered on Bull’s behalf as well as Dorian’s own, the welling heat of his disappointment building quickly in the pads of his fingers; static fury at Jersey’s scathing language crackled on the back of his tongue. He placed his napkin down on the table, a small, stray bolt snaking from one of his rings to one of the heavy beer mugs. The magic was there and gone so fast Dorian doubted anyone visually registered it. It cracked one long line down the thick glass with a sharp, brittle noise that drew the whole bar up short. Bull’s eye widened but he didn’t speak. Jersey jumped, paused, lost several long moment considering… but ultimately, he kept to his course of action. He twisted his free hand into the fabric of Bull’s collar, the purple dark against the bone-whitened skin of his knuckles.

“Let’s take this outside,” he growled, glaring at Dorian, daring him to interject again with the threat of his raised fist. “ _You_ stay out of it. Get up, Ox!”

“Not happening, bud.” Bull grabbed the offending arm and squeezed. Jersey yelped as the bones in his wrist popped, Bull’s collar slipping free. Jersey yanked his hand away as though burned. Behind them, two more men built like action figures gone to seed stood up, grumbling at the scene, eyeing Bull from behind his back. “I don’t fight unless I have to. You’d be smarter to leave me alone.”

“You think I’m scared of you, you prick fuck--?!” Jersey snarled, but before Bull could rise Dorian was on his feet, pressing into Jersey’s space as he unbuttoned his cuffs. He rolled his sleeves to his elbows like a professor about to give lecture, quietly appraising. Bull’s gut clenched in concern as Jersey rounded to leer down at Dorian, face awash in purple-red as his anger climbed.

“I beg your pardon.” Quiet and respectful, Dorian damn near managed demure. Just one more mask, though this one fit him about as well as an old shirt of Bull’s might. Actually… no, the thought of Dorian in one of his shirts was far too pleasant an image for comparison. The icy tone in Dorian’s voice snapped Bull back, “My acquaintance asked you to leave him be.” Dorian’s tone seethed aristocratic disdain, high-bred and dripping with ire. His spine was rod straight, the slope of his shoulders solid and self-certain. The only real tell of his mood was the lightning - lightning, as in, tiny thunderbolts of alkali blue skittering across Dorian’s knuckles - arcing from ring to ring. Bull flinched back; Dorian didn’t see it. “You refused, and put your hands on him instead. Hardly civil. You will leave now, or I will make you. It’s your choice.”

If the bulging of his eyes proved an indicator, Bull figured Jersey was just as stunned as he about Dorian’s overt threat. Smothering his flare of panic at Dorian’s flaring magic, Bull got his legs under him just as Jersey’s fists lifted. No sooner did he try to rise than the air around them... thickened somehow, trapping Bull’s breath in his chest. His arms were heavy as lead; he flopped back down the couple of inches to his seat at the unexpected weight. The guys behind him stopped moving, too. Jersey’s hesitation was brief. He snarled past it, slowed as though moving through molasses, and pulled one fist to his ear.

“I said I’m not fuckin’ talking to y--” but the rest was lost beneath the crack of fist meeting jawbone. Jersey toppled, clattering against the chairs at the next table over - thankfully vacant - on his way to the floor. Once he’d landed he slumped, mouth going slack. Out cold.

Bull’s one good eye widened, fixed on Dorian in open shock. Dorian didn't return the look. Instead he watched Jersey down his aristocratic nose, shaking the hit from his hand and nonchalantly rotating his rings.

“Be thankful I granted you a nap, rather than the lesson in humility you so badly require.” Dorian’s eyes, glinting like polished silverite, flicked to the two men who’d postured as though they too wanted a fight. “Perhaps he will wake up refreshed, liberated from the rampant onset of stupidity that made this unfortunate scene possible.” Dorian advanced; the two retreated. “Do the two of you require similar?”

Both men shook their heads and fled.

“Dorian.” Bull’s gaze was focused on the middle distance, at the sudden lack of activity in the entire room and the eerie glow of Dorian’s fists. Try as he might, Bull couldn't rid his voice of the tight, breathy sound of fear. Dorian was impressive but the crackling energy was no more than a foot from his horn. “Might uhh, want to kill the light show, big guy.”

Dorian startled, the dark cloud of his expression blown away on the wind of Bull’s call. The look of surprise at the lightning tightened to something more calculating. Dorian’s eye met Bull’s and widened at what they saw there; the look of surprise shifted to one of pinched upset all but instantly. His hands dropped limp to his sides, the glittering light gone.

“You guys alright?” Krem and Lace returned to their table, Krem scowling and Lace looking downright murderous.

“Fine.” Bull stayed seated, angled ever so slightly away from Dorian’s lowered fists. Dorian himself took a deep steadying breath but did not answer.

“Flissa called the cops. They'll come take care of that arsehat.” Lace’s light complexion had washed red in her anger but she said it loudly enough to be heard, nodding her thanks to the bartender. One or two of the nearby tables went back to their conversations and the moment passed, the murmur of unconcerned patrons resuming in the lull. “Dorian…?”

Dorian still hadn’t moved, shoulders climbing as he watched Bull watch his hands. He held for a moment before straightening again, sweeping his coat from the back of his chair and all but sprinting from the room. Bull heard him snarl something like “I suppose that concludes _that_ ” under his breath as he passed, but didn't raise a hand to stop him.

“Dorian!” Lace moved to take off after him but Krem caught her elbow just as the front door swung closed.

“Chief?”

“Don’t start, Krem,” Bull muttered, thumbing the rough skin just above his eyepatch.

“Krem,” Lace’s fidgeted but Krem’s gaze stayed on Bull. “I need to go after-”

“I don’t think it’s on you, Lace.”

“I don’t do magic, Krem,” Bull’s voice was gruff, made gravelly by his disquiet. “Magic means demons and I sure as fuck don’t do demons.” The ‘ _anymore_ ’ went unsaid; the sentiment echoed of Seheron nonetheless. Krem made a point of looking around the room, even leaning to peek under their table while Bull scowled.

“Don’t see any demons, Chief,” Krem said, sparing a glance for the drooling lump that was Jersey, “-just an asshole someone knocked out for you, for a change.”

“I didn’t ask him to do it.”

“I didn’t ask you, either,” was the reply. “Didn’t stop me from thanking you afterwards.”

 

  
The sound of Dorian’s shoes was loud against the pavement, reverberating through every tension-taut muscle. His hands were jammed in his pockets, still clenched, the long tails of his coat billowing out behind him in the wane light. The clack of the soles wasn't nearly enough to drown out the cacophony between his ears.

_Foolish_. Every rogue thought cut a little sharper. He liked Bull. Bull was larger than life in every sense, every bit as kind and considerate as Lace had made him sound and a great deal more handsome to boot. He'd had the brains to ask smart questions about Dorian’s research, and clearly had heart, to have been hurt so badly for a man he didn’t even know.

And Dorian, in his infinite wisdom, had used the one weapon at his disposal that would make an ex-Qunari nearly crawl out of his skin. _Always so damn foolish…_

“Dorian!” The boom of the voice stopped him short before the realization of who it belonged to made him pick up the pace. There was no reason to stop walking; whatever Bull wished to say, it would do little but echo in the well of Dorian’s regret. “Hey, Dorian! Wait up!”

Dorian tucked his chin to his collar and kept waking.

“Dorian! Give a guy a minute to catch up, would you?” Despite the words Bull’s voice was louder, nearer. A short trill of panic bolted through Dorian’s chest, stricken right away by shame and anger instead. The clash drew him up short.

If Bull demanded a confrontation, he would have it.

“ _What_?” Dorian hissed. As his shoulders turned he raised his chin to face Bull, having to tip his head back to do it. As though he needed help feeling small just then...

“Thank you,” Bull answered, no small amount breathless. His expression was dark, unreadable, lost to lengthening shadow. Dorian’s breath caught for a moment before his lips twisted, sour. He did not need pity and would accept none, not from Bull nor anyone else, certainly not in this.

“Oh, you're most welcome for the unnecessary intervention,” he sneered, briars lacing every word. Best to be nasty and get it over quick, “I’m sure you enjoyed the magic. The light show at uncomfortably close quarters is one of my personal specialties. That was just bonus.” Even the mention of magic made Bull’s posture go rigid. Oh, Dorian was a fool. Nodding once, hiding from Bull’s gaze, he turned again to go. A big hand on his shoulder stopped him. The warmth of that huge palm seeped through Dorian’s coat.

“Not used to people standing up for me,” Bull remarked. There was a heaviness to his voice. “Not like you did.”

Dorian scoffed. “The Chargers have started more than one brawl-” he began.

“Yeah. But they’re my boys.” Bull’s left hand twitched, angled towards Dorian’s face, settled on his other shoulder instead. “Why’d you do it?”

“I hardly see why it matters.”

“Date’s already gone to shit,” and yes, he supposed Bull had a point, “Humor me?”

“Ugh, very well,” he sighed. “I… know something of being disparaged against. For that fool to say the things he did, for him to _put his hands on you_ , all when he had no idea…” Just thinking on it made Dorian’s fingers burn. “And then I accosted him with magic right in front of you, knowing…” About the Ben-Hassrath. About how Bull’s people felt about mages, let alone the kind Tevinter tended to turn out. The rest of the sentiment lodged in his chest.

“Hey.” Bull’s voice had gone quiet; his fingers found Dorian’s chin, tipping it up so silver eyes glowed tawny gold. “Maybe let me have a chance to decide?”

“Decide what, exactly?” Bull’s hand slid down Dorian’s arm, cupping one hand and pulling it to his lips.

“Whether hanging on to an old fear is worth losing the chance to get to know someone new.”

Dorian cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. The fluttering of anxiety was kind enough to contain itself to his stomach, squashed down beside the flickering embers of hope. “You have someone specific in mind, or would anyone do?”

  
“Hmmm,” Bull released Dorian’s hand, stroking his chin in deep thought. “I'm thinking they'd have to be well-dressed, adaptable,” he tapped his chin as though counting, “able to wax poetically for hours about things that are important to them and, oh,” and his expression brightened at the ‘ah-ha’ moment “most importantly, forgiving of stupid mistakes.”

“That’s a rather extensive list,” Dorian advised, as loftily as he could manage. The smile tugging at his cheeks slipped into his tone, the traitor. “Dreaming a bit big for the south, aren’t we?”

“I'm a big man,” Bull replied, nodding solemnly. His sobriety almost offset Dorian’s flat look in reply.

“You did not just…” but Bull’s grin was shameless and Dorian was forced to admit defeat in his war, smiling back with an eye roll. “You're impossible.”

“But am I forgiven?”

“We shall see, won’t we?”

 

  
“So… This really didn’t turn out the way we planned,” Lace grumbled. She leaned into Krem’s arm as they ventured outside. “Sorry about that, I hope- “ A nudge from Krem’s elbow cut her off. She trailed to silence, glancing at the seemingly mismatched pair chatting quietly under a street lamp two blocks away. Bull was pressed close, leaning into Dorian’s space. Dorian himself was angled back but open-postured, reclining against the pole. He was holding one elbow with his free hand, cupping his cheek and gazing up at Bull as the bigger man spoke. Almost as if he didn’t trust his hands to behave themselves.

“Well well,” Lace didn’t bother hiding her glee. “Mission accomplished after all?”

“Maybe,” Krem smirked, “Prolly leave them to it, huh?’”

 

**Lace 10:55 PM:** So did you get his number?  
**Dorian 10:57 PM:** I scared the man in front of a room full of people with my magic and brought dinner to an early close at the same time  
**Lace 10:59 PM:** It's like you’re allergic to monotony. But none of that was your fault  
**Lace 11:00 PM:** Also answer the question. I'm gonna keep bugging you til you do  
**Dorian 11:02 PM:** I am allergic to many things. The damnable cold. Ferelden linebackers with poor choice in sports team. It simply isn't my problem that sometimes the stage of life demands an actor of my caliber.  
**Lace 11:07 PM:** … Dorian  
**Dorian 11:09 PM:** Vishante kaffas YES I GOT IT. Who do you think you’re talking to?  
**Lace 11:10 PM:** Bull’s future BF, hopefully :3c

The last earned her a cellphone pic of one of Dorian’s fingers in particular.

-

**Bull 11:14 PM:** So, about last night  
**Bull 11:14 PM:** That wasn’t exactly the best ending for a date  
**Bull 11:15 PM:** The asshole, I mean. The bit after was better

Bull’s heart gave a small lurch as the three flashing dots on his screen began to blink.

**Dorian 11:15 PM:** I can think of a few alternatives that I’d prefer, yes  
**Dorian 11:15 PM:** Though you should know  
**Dorian 11:16 PM:** After long reflection, I have decided that I do not hold you personally responsible for the evening being spoiled by a random ne’er-do-well  
**Bull 11:16 PM:** That so?

There was a long pause before the next set of dots came up. Bull waited, pulse picking up a few extra beats per minute.

**Dorian 11:17 PM:** Yes. So long as you’ve still forgiven me for overstepping, and allow me to buy you a drink in repayment, sometime

Bull wasn’t grinning from ear to ear like a teenager. He was _not_.

**Bull 11:18 PM:** Like I said, not too used to people defending my honor, big guy  
**Bull 11:19 PM:** Not complaining, though. It was hot.  
**Dorian 11:20 PM:** I do my best.  
**Dorian 11:23 PM:** So, drinks then?  
**Bull 11:24 PM:** With you, big guy? Absolutely

 

**Author's Note:**

> I think I beta'd 6 of this year's works for the minibang, thanks to everyone who let me be involved in their work!!! It helped me feel less useless about my own and that helped a LOT.
> 
> I will post the other 12k I cut - the part with the action/drama components - as soon as I can stomach it long enough to edit it for the 20th time. :P
> 
> As always, constructive crit is very much welcome. I've looked at this one so many times I've gone cross-eyed and can't do much with it.


End file.
